savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Ulric contains his shudder of want badly.

  “Ulric—you okay?” Jim asks, moving toward him.

  He nods. “I need to feed,” he says in a low voice then continues speaking to the crowd, “The point is this: We have sufficient females. Jim is truly a Man of the Tree, despite circumstance. Brom reacted rashly, and will find that it is not a simple thing to run a clan as we do.” Ulric's eyes move to the elder who spoke. “And as far as my father is concerned, I am violent by necessity, not by choice.”

  Ulric will not speak ill of his sire. However, it is well known that his father solved most things violently. Ulric allows temperance to rule him. Unless circumstance dictates otherwise. As it did with the Clan of Cape Cod. The seafaring clansmen were not honorable.

  Adira had made Men of the Tree without the genetic memory necessary to be what they were made to be. Shells of First Species could not be allowed to continue. Vacant of all the precepts that make First Species unique—powerful.

  Ulric's head whips to the spot where Brom left. He had missed an opportunity to confer with him. Warn him. Did Jim, Tab and he kill all of the false Men of the Tree?

  Does Brom deserve warning—Ulric's fairness?

  Can Ulric remain here, when the female he has conceded will mate with another out of selflessness, might be in danger? The new clan will be manned by an emotional and ignorant new Alpha.

  The elder spreads his powerful arms away from his body. Thickened by striated supple muscles, though he is over one hundred years old, he still retains youth. “I did not mean to imply you lead less fully than your sire.”

  He did.

  But considerations of ego is not what matters. Ulric's head throbs with the need to feed, his psyche is bruised with indecision. He could not have made Natasha stay by force. Not after what she had been put through by the Fragment. However, her safety is now in question. Ulric is not utterly sure of the false Men of the Tree's total extermination.

  Ulric's inhale is weary. “I understand, Gerald. However, this is the time for unity, for seeking females and assuring the continued safety of our clan. And the time for secrecy has passed.” Ulric gives Adira a hard glance of both significance and permission.

  Her eyebrows shoot up.

  “I think that's your cue to spill the beans,” Jim says. “They need something positive.”

  Ulric nods.

  Adira says nothing. Instead, she shifts. In Ulric's gorillan form, and she is in her human shape, Adira would only stand at waist level, in her gorillan form, she is still delicate by First Species standards, even as female.

  Every pair of male eyes burns over her.

  Then the shout and yells come, the eyes return to her—filled with anger.

  “I know,” Adira begins, swiping dark hair away from a delicate brow ridge, some of the natural shape of her eyes in human form remains, causing them to look slightly oblong, and not the typical perfect circle of gorillan. “I should have come clean about my situation.”

  Jim snorts in the background while Ulric translates the strangeness of her speech to his people.

  When she describes how she changed Fragment into Men of the Tree, angry clicks, chirps and grunts ensue. They will not hurt her, but like Jim, they do not like Adira. She's made herself a pariah when she could have had a place of reverence within the clan.

  “I survived. That's what I did. And I want to go home.”

  “You're a slow learner with this, Adira,” Jim interrupts, and the audience of Ulric's people quiet to hear his words, spoken as strangely as her own. “We can't go home as half-apes.”

  Ulric loathes the ape talk. They are First Species. Not apes. Or vampires. Myths. He shakes his head, translating that last sentence carefully to avoid offense.

  Gerald comments in a break of explanation, “It appears as though Tabben, Ulric,” he gives a reluctant nod in Jim's direction, “and this new one, killed those who were unnatural.” Gerald speaks as though the problem is settled. Yet his words are structured as part question, part clarification.

  Adira casts her eyes at her feet, blowing out a defeated exhale.

  Jim rotates slowly in her direction. “Adira—those creepy apers—they were the only ones we have to worry about, right?”

  She does not reply, and Ulric feels unease blossom inside him.

  Jim strides to her, gripping her by the shoulders.

  Every Man of the Tree growls at her possible abuse.

  Jim's face contorts. “I hate this protection directive bullshit!”

  He drops his hands and takes a step back. “How many of those fuckers did you make?”

  Adira slowly looks into Jim's face. “I made them all.”

  Jim puts his hands on his hips, the clothing that remains on his body shows more than it hides, and he swings the strips of material out of the way of his hands in irritation.

  “What do ya mean, all?”

  “You guys killed what, a dozen?”

  Jim slowly nods, narrowing his eyes upon her form.

  Ulric massages his temples.

  “That's just the new Fragment,” she says in a voice of confession.

  “New Fragment?” Jim echoes in a hollow voice, his mind hitting on Simon and the handful or two of Travelers that originally accompanied this shitstorm acquisition.

  “How many, Adira?” Ulric asks, his stomach flopping over sickly.

  “I don't know—maybe fifty. The ones you killed were the jerks with Simon.”

  Jim stumbles backward. “If you weren't a chick I'd kick your ass,” he seethes.

  She bites her lip. “I know—I'm sorry. It was turn them, or I wouldn't get home and they'd kill me anyway. I had no choice.”

  “Fifty?” Jim says in a loud voice. “What does this mean?”

  Ulric feels his horror escape with his words. “It means that every Man of the Tree that now cleaves to Brom, will see their true death come to pass.”

  Jim shakes his head. “What about the chicks, Ulric? If that posse of false tree guys come screaming through here, there's zilch protection. Brom can't beat them off with a stick. There's too many—and they don't have tree shelters, the girls can't do anything but get taken or worse. Those guys aren't hardwired like us!” Jim's arms snap upward.

  Natasha. Adrenaline spikes through Ulric's body.

  Brom might have the protective directive like all First Species. But there is no protecting anything or anyone when the ratio is seven to one or worse.

  Ulric turns to Tab.

  He steps forward. “Alpha?”

  “I need to seek the females, return them here. Brom doesn't know about the false tree men.”

  Their eyes meet. “He is not in a position to receive the information,” Tab comments neutrally.

  “Yes, though the females should not suffer for his choices.”

  “How many women went with him?” Jim asks.

  “Maybe five,” Ulric says.

  “I'll go.” Because I'm dumb that way.

  “Jim,” Adira says.

  “No offense—shut up, Adira. These nutbunnies are running around because you were so worried about your own skin.”

  Adira's eyes shine with tears. “That's not fair. I was afraid, Jim.”

  Jim whips in her direction. “And a bunch of ape guys croaking because you made a batch of weirdos isn't fair for them either. Do us all a favor and get your ass up in a tree shelter so at least we don't have to worry about you while we're doing a Team Rescue with Brom's bunch.”

  Adira whirls, sprinting away from Jim and climbing a vine as she ascends to her assigned shelter.

  “Harsh,” Ulric comments in a bald voice, watching her ascension.

  “You let me handle people from my world. I know what I'm doing, Ulric.”

  Ulric had thought he did too. With Natasha. As it turns out, he had done everything exactly wrong.

  Chapter 33

  Elise

  Calia is not an emotional woman.

  However, Elise feels the other
woman's happiness pouring through the residual healing bond and smiles, releasing Calia from the tight hug she gave her.

  “Thank you,” Calia smiles down into Elise's upturned face.

  “You are most welcome.”

  Calia rolls her broad shoulders, grimaces and lets them drop.

  “Are you still in pain?” Elise asks, feeling herself frown.

  “A bit—but do not trouble yourself. The Men of the Tree put a true hurt upon me.”

  Philip chuckles, tossing a rucksack her way and she catches it deftly. “Aye, yet you broke some bones,” he comments with obvious pride.

  “Mayhap they got what they deserved?” she quips, and Elise hides a smile behind her hand. Calia is anything but tolerant.

  “We go,” Adahy says, shoving another piece of food her way. Elise covers her belly. “Ah—I cannot eat one more thing.”

  “Strength.” Adahy places an apple into her hand, not taking no as answer. It is not the best specimen of fruit. Out of season, and stored in holes dug out of the forest floor as root cellars, the flesh is hard and does not have the ripeness of full bloom.

  She stares into his eyes. Adahy will not bend his will in this matter.

  Elise eats the apple.

  When the core sails into the bin of rotting compost, the four of them line up against the wooden rail.

  “Methinks I will not miss the height of our quarters,” Calia comments casually.

  “Nor I,” Elise agrees easily.

  Calia moves first, hopping to the wooden rail and balancing her feet on the circular piece of wood while hanging onto a section of low-lying roof. She leaps, grabbing a vine and sliding down with a smooth hop to the platform below—Philip lands a moment later.

  Adahy grabs Elise, and she closes her eyes against the blur of the forest as they fall.

  *

  Sunlight shimmers through the deep canopy of the trees as they finally descend the last few feet down to the forest floor.

  The wood is silent, as though holding its breath.

  The silence eases Elise. It is not a silence born of disquiet but one of rest. The Clan of the Tree sleep in the daylight. Most—but not all—are harmed by the sun.

  When Ulric returned, he must have relieved the guards from restraining them.

  When discussing their options with Calia, Philip and Adahy, it was agreed upon that the four of them would not linger to say either thanks or ask permission. The unrest of the tree clan cannot be allowed to make them unwilling inhabitants.

  Once they clear the borders of the tree clan, they begin normal conversation. “Your gift of healing is extraordinary,” Calia says, hiking along the border of the woods.

  Elise is more grateful for her gift as Healer at present than she was during her time with the Fragment, though she does not mention that. “Thank you.”

  Adahy walks slightly behind Elise, and Philip is the same distance at the lead of their little group.

  No one explicitly mentions their time with the tree clan. Ulric had done wonderful things for her and Calia. He had healed them of the Yellow Fever. He might have possibly restored the function of childbearing to Elise; an unbelievable gift. Yet the mercies bestowed upon them do not seem to be without conditions.

  Live with the tree clan.

  Elise is bone tired of other people instructing her on how her life will be. Elise desperately wants choice. And she does not believe she is unique in that respect. A human's struggle for freedom remains a timeless desire.

  Adahy takes her hand, helping her over topography that grows hilly. The sun robs the day of chill, the promise of spring realized before their eyes. The presence of the warmer weather lightens Elise.

  She has a skip in her step.

  Adahy glances down, sees her happy expression, and his solemn face breaks into a smile.

  “Elise is good?” he asks.

  She grins back. “Very.”

  They trod on for a few miles, eventually coming to a crowded stand of trees and break for lunch.

  Supplies from their tree homes are passed around, and Elise finds herself enjoying yet another batch of underripe fruit and dried meat that Jim called jerky.

  They speak for a time about Ulric and Brom. Their thoughts are mainly conjecture, as none of them wished to stay and find out what was happening, when the freedom for their own lives called so loudly.

  “I will miss Jim,” Elise comments during a pause in conversation.

  “Aye—he is a male with a sense of humor,” Philip agrees with a grin and nod. Lying on his back, he tosses a dried grape, hunting for it midair with his mouth, and munching happily when it lands on his tongue.

  “Jim is Jim,” Adahy repeats without apparent need of explanation.

  Elise pauses in tearing her tough spicy meat apart with her teeth. “What does that mean, Adahy?”

  “Do tell,” Calia says, grabbing Philip's wrist and forcing it near her lips so she might try a raisin.

  He growls, pulling her against him and kissing the tip of her nose. Calia squeals happily, tickling his side.

  “Minx!” he calls softly, and they tussle as Adahy appears to mull over Elise's question.

  “Jim do right. Jim is Stone Giant but he still Jim.”

  Elise nods. Jim will always be who he is, no matter what physical changes present themselves.

  Elise leans her temple against Adahy's shoulder. “You are right.”

  Adahy grins, tipping her face back and looking so sure of himself. “Adahy always right.”

  Elise laughs. “You are, are you?” she lightly smacks his arm, and he tightens his hold on her.

  Elise feels safe.

  *

  The next few days remain uneventful.

  Except for the occasional sign of old Fragment footprints, dried and empty from the prior winter, they are alone.

  The group keeps to the border of the trees to exploit the shade from a sun that grows hotter with each day.

  “Any clan nearby?” Elise asks Calia.

  “Nay, this is absent of our people.”

  “Hmm,” Elise says, wondering if she should alarm anyone with her thoughts. “And there are no tree clans along this path?”

  Calia stops. Turns. Her golden eyebrows pull together. “No. Ulric made it clear. He and Tabben had the two clans of the northeastern region.”

  That was what Elise feared. Her eyes bore into the woods, looking closely at the type of things she would know. Through hard experience.

  “Do ye have more feelings?” Calia asks, making a hovering circle above her chest with her open palm.

  “My disquiet might be more observation, and less precognition,” Elise admits hesitantly.

  Adahy and Philip return from a few horse lengths away, see the women's expressions and simultaneously frown.

  “What ails you?” Philip asks, looking between them.

  Elise gives a rough exhale, and begins to walk into the forest. Two days past, they had broken for lunch, and when she sat upon the cool forest floor she had observed what she believed was proof of someone following them. Always at the border's of the forest, just slightly interior of their travels.

  Elise makes her way inside just beyond where the four of them traverse. There, most obviously before them, are footprints. They are not humanoid. Elise can only guess what they might be. The others must see for themselves. Perhaps between the four of them, they can sort what it might be.

  Adahy trails his fingers over the ridges and mounds of the prints. His eyes find hers and he nods in her direction.

  Philip goes to his hands and knees, inspecting the prints closely.

  Calia retreats a step, never bothering to look. Instead, her eyes dart around the shadowed gloom of the woods.

  Adahy slowly stands, eyes scanning the dim forest interior. He moves backward to Elise's position. Taking her hand without a word he leads her into the open.

  The sun beats down on them.

  Yet Elise remains chilled.

  “Stone Gi
ants,” Adahy states without hesitation.

  Elise gives a grim nod.

  Philip strides toward their position as Calia jogs to keep up. He stops before them. “How long have they been following us? And how is it you noticed and we did not?”

  Philip does not intend to sound angry. The Band is formidable in all areas.

  Elise backs away a step and Philip's eyes soften. “I apologize. I do not wish to intimidate you. When did you take notice?”

  “When I was with the Fragment, they were excellent trackers. That is how they-they found what they wanted to take.” Elise stares at her feet. “All of us understood the signs for tracking. But the Fragment look for unique signs.”

  They wait, Calia shifting from one foot to the other, casting nervous glances behind her.

  “The second day of hiking west was when I saw the prints underneath the hanging vegetation.”

  Philip cups his chin. “They have decided to follow us? Illogical. Ulric has his hands full with Brom. And he made it clear before we were not prisoners. He would not spare Tree Men to seek us. He is a deliberate male.”

  “They are not Tree Men exactly,” Elise says, confiding her suspicions.

  They still, eyes prowling over her.

  Philip scowls. “Tell us.”

  “Fragment behave, as a group, in a distinctive way. These prints look like Tree Men, but they move like Fragment. Fragment regiment moves in small groups of three to five. When they are hunting prey. Women,” Elise swallows her disgust, “children, wildlife—they track exactly like this. They run parallel to us. If they were using vines, we would never hear them. Even you of the Band, would be hard pressed to hear them.”

  Calia's expression is troubled. “You say they are Fragment yet—also Men of the Tree. But not of Ulric's clan. How is this possible?”

  Elise shakes her head. “I believe not—I do not know.”

  The silence swells as they all think the same troubled thoughts.

  “If they are just observing, what do they want from us?” Calia asks, eyes roaming the stark and jagged outline of the trees.